


Lifelines

by Miss M (missm)



Category: Night Watch - Sarah Waters
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-03-02 02:58:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2797115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missm/pseuds/Miss%20M
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kay, leaving the rubble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lifelines

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wilde_Shade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wilde_Shade/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide, Wilde Shade! I hope you'll enjoy this take on post-novel Kay. Thank you so much to Lyras for the beta.

_If this were a book_ , Kay thought to herself, _that ray of sunshine breaking through the clouds right now would be symbolic, and I'd be filled with hope._

She was sitting on a bench in Russell Square, looking at the place in the sky where grey was giving way to light blue and feeling rather relieved she wasn't in a book. Hope was hard work and the reward was uncertain. She had been far too happy for a few brief years; perhaps she had spent her allotted amount of happiness and there was nothing more to hope for, so she would never have to do it again.

The thought was familiar, almost comforting, like an unattractive, worn grey jumper, and if left to her own devices she might have chosen to mull over it all day long. But she had promised Mickey she'd meet her for a drink, and that was why she was here now, on a Saturday afternoon in autumn, drawing on her cigarette and waiting for Mickey's shift to end. 

Two women came walking towards her. Her eyes slid over them more from jaded habit than any real interest. They were younger than her by perhaps five or six years, both elegant-looking, their hair done in neat curls under their berets. As they passed Kay, one of them caught her gaze and held it for a moment. There was no spark there, of recognition or anything else, just the casual, non-committal brush of a stranger's eyes, neither judgemental nor pitying. 

The moment passed, the women went on. Kay rubbed her hands together, absently wishing she had a drink already. She caught herself looking at the retreating women -- the one who had met her gaze had been the one in the red coat. She could not remember anything else about her, not even her face, save for the fact that she had looked at Kay. 

_This is how starved I am,_ she thought, throwing her cigarette to the ground and stomping on it. Mickey had often said that there were more fish in the sea. It was a meaningless saying, just as meaningless as ascribing any symbolic value to changes in the skies. Even now, she could look at random women in the streets, strangers she had never seen before and would most likely never see again, and she could find them good-looking, beautiful, sometimes attractive, and that was it. None of them could be pictured in a flat in Rathbone Place; none of them could be imagined sleepy, half-awake, with tousled blond hair and small plump lips that beckoned to be kissed. 

"Oh, dash it all," she muttered to herself and fished out another cigarette. The sky was growing brighter still, but she did not feel any more hopeful for it. 

Presently Mickey came towards her, a tiny figure striding quickly over the square. Kay stepped on her cigarette and rose to greet her. Mickey was in slacks, stringy hair tied back with a ribbon, and she smiled on seeing Kay. "Hullo there," she said, accepting the cigarette from the box Kay held out. Her cool, slender fingers rested on Kay's for a moment; as if she was back in the war, taking someone's pulse, reassuring herself that Kay was still alive. Then the cigarette was between Mickey's lips, and she leaned forward to let Kay light it for her. "Blimey," she said, drawing at it deeply. "What a day."

"I'll buy you dinner," Kay said. "What would you like?"

"Dinner? Only if you're having some yourself, missus." Mickey gave her a poke in the ribs. "But it sounds lovely. Why don't we head over to that old place near Oxford Street?" 

They started walking away from the square. Kay drew on her cigarette, squinting against the sky. Far too bright now, and there was a cold wind in the air, stirring up the fallen leaves and milling them about. 

"How are you, then?" Mickey asked after a while. Her voice was kind, and yet as relentless as only a friend's could be. Kay felt herself grimace in a bad attempt to repay Mickey's concern with a smile. "Oh, you know."

"I do," Mickey said softly, looking at her sideways. "I suppose." Then, a little more louder, a little more insistently, she said, "I've told you before, Kay, you should get away from that place. It can't be healthy for you." 

"And go where?" But she regretted that question immediately, for she might as well have asked Mickey to repeat her offer. Hastily, she said, "All of London is the same to me, honestly. It all reminds me of her... There's no getting away from it."

Mickey shook her head. "Kay, something needs to happen." 

"I know." But she didn't, not really. Nothing felt like it needed to happen.

They lit new cigarettes. Mickey's eyes darted towards the ring on Kay's finger. "You never told me how you got that back."

"No?" Kay looked up towards the sky again. The clouds were coming back, but she hadn't put much stock in the metaphor anyway and wasn't about to start now. "I suppose not."

"That girl, wasn't it? The one who was bleeding to death. I'd almost forgotten about that." Kay glanced back at her; Mickey sounded almost sly. "Kay. Have you been seeing her?" 

"Not quite." Mickey raised an eyebrow, and Kay elaborated: "She saw me, rather. Ran up to me in the street. It was down at the Strand." She almost smiled. The encounter had been surreal, like a visit from the past: as if the veil between the two worlds, then and now, had been drawn aside for a moment, confronting her with her younger self: _Kay of 1947, do you remember Kay of 1944? Hubris got the better of her; she was too complacent, too confident in her own future happiness..._

She drew hard on her cigarette. "Out of nowhere, all of a sudden. Ran over to give me the ring. It was good to see she'd made it." 

"I honestly hadn't expected it," Mickey said with some asperity. "You took a bloody great risk, you know." Then her voice softened. "Have you seen her again?" 

"No," Kay said. The possibility hadn't even occurred to her. "I walk past there quite often, but I haven't seen her. We only ran into each other by chance... Or as I said, she ran into me."

"You should go back there," Mickey said. "Hang around a bit, see if she shows up." 

"What for? That's ridiculous." And it was, yet some part of Kay couldn't help finding the idea appealing. It would be something to do with her days, like watching for Mr. Leonard's visitors, only less predictable. Probably more futile as well, but she had nothing to hope for either way. 

"Why not? Kay, it would do you good to see more people. How many friends do you have at the moment besides me, anyway? Don't forget, you helped save her life. She might want to meet you again. She might see you as her knight in shining armour." 

"Well now, look where that got me last time!" Her laugh was cruel; she regretted it immediately. "I'm sorry, Mickey, I really am. You mean well, I know it. But this girl probably wants to forget all about me and you and that event altogether. And I'm not fit to play anyone's knight these days."

"If she wanted to forget it all, she wouldn't have given you the ring back," Mickey said. "Just -- think about it, all right? I'm serious, Kay. You need to do something, see more people."

"I will think about it." Again Kay thought of standing in Russell Square, meeting a stranger's eyes and being reminded of her own unbearable loneliness. Mickey was right; of course she was. Since she could not go back, the sensible, reasonable thing to do was to move on. _Move on_ \-- but to where? 

They were approaching the old pub which had once been one of Kay's favourite haunts. Now she found herself unwilling to enter, but she'd promised Mickey dinner, and Mickey's smile, as she threw away the cigarette, was that of a victor. "You will," she said. 

 

*

 

November had almost given way to December before Kay went back to the Strand. Earlier, she'd come this way often, but ever since the conversation with Mickey she'd found herself avoiding it: ironically, the idea of befriending the girl had made Kay afraid of meeting her. If they should see each other again, Mickey's voice would surely be at the back of her mind, nagging her into approach where before she would have felt comfortable just nodding and passing by. And then what? There was no guarantee that the girl would even want to talk to her. 

It was ridiculous. She could not imagine that the two of them had anything in common, except what everyone in this city must have in common -- something or someone lost in the war, memories that lay in wait around every corner, although of course they did have that one specific memory in common. It was surprising, Kay thought, that Vivien had wanted to meet her, if only to give back the ring. It was surprising, really, that Vivien had remembered her at all. 

Thinking back on that afternoon, she had to smile, because otherwise she might have wanted to weep. Strong, brave Kay in her uniform, rescuing women close to death -- was that how Vivien remembered her? And now, this pale worn shadow, a wreck of a human being roaming the streets like a ghost haunting its home long after its loved ones have moved on... 

People passed by her, anonymous and meaningless. Perhaps she had brought some of them to hospital during the war. She wouldn't remember, these days. She'd only remembered Vivien because of the ring. These men in their coats and hats, these women in walking shoes with small heels, all of them looking so determinedly normal, as if the pallor and panic and gaping wounds were costumes left behind at the theatre of war -- they could be anyone, anyone at all. 

Someone touched her arm. Kay turned around, not abruptly -- she was having a hard time doing anything abruptly these days -- and found herself face to face with Vivien. Kay wasn't even surprised. Wasn't this why she had come here, after all?

"I walk past here sometimes," Vivien said before Kay could. "I thought I might see you here again, Miss... Kay, wasn't it? I'm sorry, I can't remember your surname." 

"Yes. Kay Langrish." She still found it surprising, even impressive, that Vivien had remembered her name at all, but didn't comment on it. "And you're Miss Pearce?" 

"Call me Viv, please." She seemed to hesitate for a second, before pulling her right glove off and extending her hand to Kay. "We were never really introduced, were we?"

Kay took her hand. It was cool and smooth, but soft; she held it for a second before releasing it. During the war, people had often asked to hold her hand while waiting to be carried to safety. She hadn't understood, back then, how important such a thing could be, how much like holding a lifeline... But those people had been afraid of dying, hurt within an inch of their lives. Kay was simply incapable of letting go of her ghosts. 

"Listen," Viv said, shifting a bit on her feet. She was pretty, very good-looking in an ingenue way. Now a slight flush was rising on her cheekbones, and she was avoiding Kay's eyes. "I don't think I ever thanked you properly. What you did for me, it was -- I didn't forget it. I never have. I want you to know that."

"Never mind." Kay tried to smile and found to her surprise she could do it. She glanced around. The street was too crowded, people impatiently shoving past them. 

Viv followed her eyes and bit her lip. Still not meeting Kay's eyes, she said, "You know what? It's cold. Why don't we go and have a cup of tea? If you're not busy, that is."

"Thank you, but..." 

She stopped before the rejection could be fully formed. It occurred to her that Viv was nervous -- more than that, Viv was lonely. What if she wasn't trying to be civil? What if she, Kay, who had spent so much time trying to save others, was now about to cut someone's lifeline?

The barren, cynical part of her laughed at the trite image. The part that was still Kay nodded and said, "Thank you, I'd like to." 

 

*

 

"I don't remember it very well," Viv said. She was stirring sugar into her tea, her hand moving in neat circles; again she was avoiding Kay's eyes. "I do remember you and your friend, I remember -- " She lowered her voice, glancing around. "-- the blood, and thinking I'd die. But I'd almost made myself forget, until I saw you in the street. I recognised you then. You hadn't changed very much."

"No?" Kay wasn't certain what else to say. She raised her cup to hide the pitiful attempt at a smile. It was true, she supposed, that outwardly she looked much the same. And how many women like her had Viv ever seen? "I feel very changed," she said, because it was true and she ought to say something. 

Viv looked at her then, a bit cautiously still, but thoughtfully. "I suppose we all have. It's not the same, is it? Life after the war is nothing like I'd have imagined. I used to think it would all be so easy, somehow. But it isn't."

"No," Kay said. "It isn't." 

She leaned back in her seat, glancing around the cafe. It was only half-full now. How strange it was, to sit like with with someone she knew almost nothing about, and talk about the war. She found herself wanting to know more about Viv. For the first time in longer than she could remember, real curiosity stirred in her. 

_Are you still with him?_ she wanted to ask. _Didn't he break your heart, putting you through that? I've had mine broken too._ In a wild moment she imagined confiding everything to Viv, exposing her own story like Viv had been exposed to her. 

But what would this girl know of women like Kay, of her particular kind of heartbreak? Perhaps she would be curious, intrigued. Or perhaps she would freeze, press her lips together in revulsion, withdraw, intensely regretting she had asked Kay to join her for tea in the first place -- she'd want to say it clearly: _I'm not like that_. And then they would awkwardly part ways, and never see each other again unless Fate had more cruel tricks in store.

"What do you do, these days?" she asked at last. It seemed innocent enough as a question, especially compared to the thoughts she had just been entertaining. "Are you working?" 

"Yes," Viv said, quickly, as if she'd been deep in thought and was grateful for the interruption. "Yes. I work at a match-making agency, of all things. I never can decide whether it's silly or meaningful. A bit of both, I suppose... Helping people be happy is meaningful, but dear me, how ridiculous they can be!" 

"I can imagine." Kay found herself smiling again. "And are they ever? Happy, that is."

Viv smiled, a bit ruefully. "Perhaps? Happier, at least, in some cases. But they are awfully picky, most of them. And the ones they want don't want them, and vice versa." She shrugged. "When you think about it, for two people to both be in love with each other takes an incredible amount of good luck."

Kay almost laughed then, with the bitter irony of it. She managed not to. Instead, she raised her cup to her mouth, her hand trembling but a little, and took a sip, again noting that new, strange curiosity. _Is she speaking from experience?_ she wondered. _Does she know how I feel, would she understand?_

She looked at Viv sideways, measuring her. A good-looking girl -- a woman, really -- in her best age; make-up carefully done to show off her dark eyes and pale skin, shiny brown hair neatly combed back and tied up. She looked glamourous. It would be easy, Kay thought, to imagine her the sort of woman who would cheerfully break the hearts of others while keeping her own closely locked up and guarded, a flighty wench, a femme fatale. 

But Kay had seen her vulnerable, bleeding, close to death, crying for a man who wasn't there. She had held Viv's hand and wiped the sweat from her brow. Perhaps Viv would not despise Kay for being such a wreck. Perhaps she would even feel relieved to know that Kay was anything but a knight in shining armour, that Kay, like herself, had fallen in love with the wrong person and paid dearly for it.

Assuming, of course, they would ever be close enough to talk about such things. And at that moment, as if to remind her of the very fact they were as good as strangers still, Viv asked, "And you? What do you do?" 

"At the moment?" Her laugh sounded false, artificial. "I'd lie and say something interesting. But, truth be told, I do nothing." 

Viv frowned. Then a wave of realisation passed over her face, as if she hadn't noticed Kay's accent until now; her eyes took on a blank look, and she straightened a bit. "I see," she said, a slight stiffness to her voice and Kay couldn't help imagining how she must look in Viv's eyes: a rich woman, rich enough to indulge her own eccentric habits and spend her days in slothfulness where common people had to work... 

Had it been anyone else, she would not have cared. But somehow what Viv thought of her seemed important -- she found herself not wanting Viv to dislike her, or worse, be intimidated by her. Hurriedly, she said, "I am looking for work, though. But it's more difficult now, after the war. For some reason they aren't as keen on women ambulance drivers these days." 

It wasn't a lie, she thought as Viv nodded, relaxing a little. Not the part about there not being work for female drivers. But what if there had been? It still wouldn't be the same. What a creature she was, to be missing the war! Those years of terror and horrors, the best ones of her life. _But everything was different,_ she told herself wretchedly. _It's lost in the rubble and it can't be rebuilt._

She tried to steer her mind away from that well-trodden path. It would do her no good at the moment, despite the comforting familiarity of it. Instead, she turned her attention back to Viv, and said, "Tell me more about your work. It sounds interesting. Is it a large agency?" 

"Oh no, just me and a coworker. She's nice." Viv smiled again. "Come visit us sometime. I'll show you around. Unless you'd like an appointment," she added with a laugh, before suddenly falling silent, flushing. Her mortified look was so striking that Kay had to laugh in turn. 

"Thank you," she said. Again she was smiling; it felt so easy this time and all the more noteworthy for it. "I should like that. To come and visit you, that is. I don't meet a lot of people these days." 

"Nor I," said Viv. "Truth be told, I find it hard. But..." She flushed again, but then she raised her eyes determinedly, with the look of having made a decision. "You have already seen the worst of me. I'd like you to see me at my best."

Kay was touched. She had to blink a few times, swallowing. "Oh," she said, looking away, finding she was now blushing under Viv's gaze. "I'm terrible company, I should warn you." She stopped. It sounded too much like a polite rejection. "You're seeing me at my worst, these days," she said, trying to make her voice lighter. "Maybe we could settle the score, as it were." 

"Maybe," Viv said. Her smile was one of relief, making her even prettier. "Although that would hardly be fair on you, would it? It's not like I'm saving your life." 

Kay looked down at her own hands, the small band of gold on her finger. Then she glanced over at Viv's hands, which had kept that ring safe for years, up at Viv's mouth, which was smiling shyly but earnestly, and into Viv's eyes, which were looking at her with hopeful interest, and thought, _You'd be surprised._


End file.
